Although for the most part I prefer to follow true to books not films, while watching the Fellowship of the Ring I decided to write this, which varies somewhat from how it is written by Tolkein. The last thoughts of Boromir, son of Denethor. I hope you like it, reviews would be very welcome.
It's funny the things that come to your mind as the blood drains from your body, another arrow driving through your laboured chest. I could think of Frodo, and the ring, and how I have failed. I could think of my country, and how I have failed my father. I could think of my city, and how Aragorn must see the light and return to it if it is to be saved.
But I don't. I think of Faramir.
I wonder where he is, what he is doing in this exact moment, and whether or not he is thinking of me. Of all the people I have let down, I fear he is the one I have betrayed most deeply. For so long now I have not thought of him, my thoughts consumed with the ring and sometimes my father, I had all but forgotten I even had a brother.
Merry and Pippin are doing their best, but I cannot count on their courage to save them. I must fight on. I stand weakly, my knees shaking yet I keep my sword high still, and every strike of my sword is for Faramir, whom I love dearly, far more so than my father.
He deserves the freedom I could not find. Freedom of the mind. I've been so lost in my hunger for power I have forgotten all the things I learnt over the years in the company of my little brother. I see my father in myself, and with every orc I kill I destroy a little more of him that resides in me. When I die, I want to die knowing I am the man my brother believes me to be. I want to make him proud.
The horn blows again, I did not even realise I had reached for it.
A third arrow slips between my ribs, so very close to my heart and I fall to my knees, my chest shattering from the weight of it. I can hear my breaths whistling down my throat and before me he stands, the archer, my executioner. I look up, into the merciless pits of his eyes and see my doom within their scarlet gleam.
My eyes close and my sword falls from my hands as I clench my weak fists, imagining his small hands in mine, as I had held them when he was a child. My eyes close but I do not see black, I see his face as I last saw it, smiling and proud and I left Osgiliath to start my journey to Rivendell, the road that led me here, to this point, to my death.
And all I feel is relief. Relief that my father denied Faramir the chance to prove himself, and take my place in the council of Elrond. I could die a thousand times and still never condemn him to this fate by letting him live out this destiny, my destiny.
But the final arrow does not find me. There is a crash and I open my eyes to the sight of Aragorn son Arathorn fighting my battle, protecting my like a brother, even though I have failed, as if I still deserve to be saved.
I try to follow the goings on around me, but the ground is pulling me closer. White pain is taking me far from here, all the way to Ithilien, where I can see him now. He's dining with his fellows, his seat no higher than the lowliest of servants and his food no better either. The humble one, always the humble one. Perhaps I really am there, or perhaps it is only my imagination, I do not care either way.
I feel a smile curve my lips, and with each breath the image of him grows stronger. I hope so very dearly that he won't suffer too greatly. I hope he knows that I died with some dignity, what little dignity I could keep.
Hands…warm hands, I try to smile as Aragorn's face blocks out the cloudy image of the sky above me, but it could just as easily have been a grimace.
"They took the little ones," I say between sharp breaths that stop half way down my throat. I see the fear in the ranger's eyes and I fear the worst. "Frodo…where is Frodo?" I have to know. He must be safe, the ring-bearer must be safe. My death is not in vain as long as the ring-bearer is safe. No matter the pain, I can know that my task has been fulfilled if Frodo is far from Sauron and Saruman.
"I let Frodo go."
It's like a knife to the heart, another arrow to my chest, and I close my eyes. Who will protect him if not the Dunedain? Better he follow Frodo than comfort me in my last minutes.
"Then you did what I could not," I admit with shame. I must tell someone of my treachery, I must say it so he knows that I have redeemed myself. If not… "I tried to take the ring from him."
Sickeningly, there is no anger in Aragorn's gaze, only sympathy, perhaps disappointment. I don't care how close death is, I would rather he shout at me.
"The ring is beyond our reach now."
And this is supposed to comfort me? Further from us, closer to Sauron. How can I leave behind my brother to fight this war on his own? My father…I fear his hope shall follow me to my grave. Who will protect my people? All I can hope is that Faramir shall not give in to the fear that betrayed me.
"Forgive me…I did not see. I have failed you all."
Such similar words to Faramir's. He spoke so similarly to my father when Osgiliath first fell. Only my father, protector of the city of Minas Tirith, did not show him mercy. Aragorn does. Aragorn places a hand on my head in consolation.
"No, Boromir. You fought bravely. You have kept your honour."
He turns to my wounds, and his expression is so alike to Faramir's, all caring and innocent. It has been so long since I cared the way brother cares. This man…he is our only chance. And he does not have the faith my city needs bestowed upon it in order to survive. We are lost.
"Leave it!" I order, grabbing his wrist before he can extract an arrow. "It is over…" my voice trembles, and I blink away tears. "The world of men will fall, and all will come to darkness and my city to ruin….Aragorn…" I am a cruel man. Even as darkness surrounds me, my eyes losing sight of this beautiful, ruinous world, my silver tongue works to force Aragorn to save Minas Tirith. Guilt is my only strength now.
"I do not know what strength is in my blood."
He is a fool, I know him to be strong. Why can he not trust in men? Is he so blinded by a life among the elves that he has lost sight of his own kin's power?
"But I swear to you, I will not let the white city fall nor your people fail."
"Our people…" I correct him, is this to be my last breath? I try to conjure my brother's face, but all I can see is my king. "Our people…"
My sword! He places it firmly in my hand, and I recall the day I first held it. I recall the jealousy in Faramir's kind eyes, and finally his face is clear before me. Youthful, as I still imagine him to be, not the man he has grown into.
"I would have followed you to the end," I swear, but whether to Faramir or to Aragorn I cannot quite think. "my brother, my captain, my king."
Remember this day, little brother. Goodbye Faramir, I bid you find the peace that has evaded me, and the strength to search for it, should it hide from view.